you've really got a hold on me
by joker to the thief
Summary: See, this is all your fault. Your fault that I had to turn down a perfectly lovely boy and break his perfectly lovely heart.  Your fault I'm ruining my vocal cords by drowning my sorrows in vodka. All. Your. Fault.


2:30. It's 2 fucking 30 in the morning, he has a final to sit for tomorrow – no shit, _today_ – and some fucking idiot has decided it would be funny to bang on his door loudly. Repeatedly. Every. 3. Fucking. Seconds.

Puck is grumbling and muttering as he makes his way to the door and he's _thisclose_ to whipping it open and just letting the motherfucker on the other side have it when he hears it. It's faint and kind of muffled by the knocking (seriously, is it ever gonna stop?) but he hears it.

Sniffles.

More importantly, Rachel Berry's sniffles.

It's fucked that he knows it's her by the little hitch in her voice and the stuttering breaths she takes when she's been crying too hard. It's the thought that she's been crying too hard that makes him open the door faster than necessary.

Rachel is standing on his doorstep in a seriously sexy red dress and high heels. She's a little unsteady on her feet, which is probably more due to the fact that she reeks like a pub than it is to the stripper shoes she has on. Her eyes are red, so she's obviously been crying, but instead of bawling and falling into his arms like she usually does, she looks up at him with this ferocious (well, like a kitten is ferocious) glare.

"I hate you," she slurs.

His eyebrow ticks up. "Well, hello to you too, Berry."

"No, really, I hate you. I hate you _this_ much." She waves her hands around manically like she's measuring a fucking largemouth bass and she completely topples over.

Luckily, he's right there and he has an armful of warm, intoxicated diva to deal with. "Hey, watch it there," he chastises. "Shit, Rachel, you tryna break your ankle or something?"

She doesn't reply, only holding on to him tighter and muttering things into the neck where her face was currently buried. He stiffens (in more ways than one) at the feel of her breath on his skin and his grip on her tightens.

Maneuvering her to the couch is harder than it looks but he does it without banging her head against the wall or something so mission accomplished. By the time he has her situated comfortably, she is mostly awake and pouting, arms crossed across her chest. And if that manages to push her boobs up – hey, it's the least she can do after waking him up this late.

"So I take it your date with Jonathan the journalism major didn't go so well?"

She sighs."His name was James and no, the date was fine. The date went very well." His jaw clenches when he hears that but for someone whose date went 'very well', she looks damn pissed. Her arms are waving around all over the place, accidentally whacking him a few times, and she's getting pretty worked up for a drunk. "He was perfect for me -sweet, intelligent, handsome, talented. He brought me flowers, Noah. _Flowers_! When was the last time you ever brought me flowers?"

"Don't think me bringing you flowers has anything to do with this, babe."

"Oh, it has plenty to do with this. See, this is all your fault," she practically shouts. "_Your_ fault that I had to turn down a perfectly lovely boy and break his perfectly lovely heart. _Your_ fault I'm ruining my vocal cords by drowning my sorrows in vodka. All. Your. Fault." She punctuates every sentence with a sharp poke in his chest.

He rubs at the area because fuck, that _hurt_. Girl's got some pointy fingers. "Could you quit doin' that?" he asks, annoyed.

"No," she says, pouting like a 5-year old.

He turns his eyes to the ceiling and asks for some fucking patience. He hated dealing with emotional women, especially an emotional _and _totally wasted Rachel, but given that they were, you know, friends and she put up with his shit, he figures he owes her. "All right, I give up. How is this my fault? Enlighten me, Berry, because it's 2:30 in the morning and unlike you, I actually want to get some sleep," he finally says, frustrated beyond belief.

She takes so long in answering that he actually thinks that she might've passed out with her eyes open. But then she turns her eyes to him and he's stumped because they're swimming in tears and there's so much pain in them, he wants to murder the fucker who made her feel that way. Even if, apparently, it's him.

"Because you've ruined men for me, Noah," she says softly and he swears, his heart just fucking stops. "I keep going out with these boys and I look for you in every one of them. I give up because they're not you. They'll never be you."

By now, she's full on crying. His brain is telling him to interrupt her, say something, do anything but he can just sit there dumbly. "And I've tried!" she growls. "I've tried getting over you but every time, I keep thinking about your stupid eyes and your stupid voice and your stupid haircut and the stupid fact that I'm just your stupid friend and…god."

She hides her face in the cushion and all he can do is rub her back in circles. Slowly, the bawling dies down and he knows from previous experience that she's about to fall asleep. But before she does, he hears her sleepily whimper, "Why did you have to ruin it for me, Noah?"

Soon, the only sound in the room is of her light breathing. He's still pretty much stuck to one side of the sofa as he tries to make sense of everything. As he looks down at her passed out on his couch, brown hair all over the place and face tracked with runny mascara, he thinks she's still the most beautiful woman he's ever known. And as he runs his hand across his 'hawk, he can't help thinking that the whole situation's pretty fucked up.

See, since they started hanging out as the only kids from Lima going to NYU, they've become friends. Hell, he's gotten pretty attached to her. But as her friend, that meant he had to watch her go through Justin, the lacrosse player; Ed, the medical student; Craig, the British guy; Neil, Bryan and Liam, all from the university's a capella group; Christian, her male lead in acting class; and Ben, the hipster intellectual. And that was just in their sophomore year.

It was like the fucking Twilight Zone; she's the stud, the sex shark and he's…

He's the schmuck who's been in love with his best friend since fucking forever. The one that's currently passed out on his couch after she confessed to having feelings for him.

See? Fucked up.

* * *

Rachel wakes up to a loud bonging in her head and the solemn vow to never, ever drink again. There is a bottle of Advil and some water on the bedside table and it takes her a while to realize that (a) she's not in her apartment, (b) she's 99.9% certain that the shirt she's wearing is Noah's, and (b) she definitely didn't end up in Jonathan's bed. James. Whatever.

It takes her a little bit longer for all the events of that morning to come rushing back. Bile churns in her gut as she remembers the sheer desperation that led to her getting drunk, rushing to Noah's apartment in the early morning hours, banging on his door and all the word vomit that followed.

She's not sure what it was about last night that made her break down after keeping it in control for so long but she's pretty certain that there's a great big chance that she just lost her best friend. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to get her breathing in control. It was time to draw on some of that famous Berry resolve. She will get over this. She had to. She couldn't lose him.

She has managed to get herself dressed by the time Puck appears in the doorway, holding a steaming cup of coffee.

"Good morning, sunshine."

She tries to swallow past her suddenly dry throat. "Good morning, Noah. Look, about last night—"

"You owe me an apology, you know that," he interrupts.

A look at his face shows him to be entirely serious and her heart breaks a little when she realizes that he's just going to sweep everything she said under the rug. But isn't that what she wanted? She shakes her head lightly to clear it and takes a deep, cleansing breath.

"I know. I'm sorry for barging in and dumping all my emotional baggage on you. I know you needed your rest for this afternoon and that was so insensitive of me—"

"No," he states firmly. Him interrupting her again isn't doing anything for her headache and wait, is he moving closer? His mug gets placed on the dresser and he is close enough now that she can smell the fabric softener on his shirt. She shivers involuntarily.

"You owe me," he begins conversationally as he reaches for her. "For making me wait around for you while you tried out all those other guys that weren't me."

"W-what?" she stutters, her heart beating wildly.

His hand is warm as it caresses the side of her face. "Don't you know, babe?" His smile is simultaneously sweet and sinful. "You ruined other women for me a long time ago."

There is a pause as the rest of her catches up but when she finally gets it…it is her lips on his, his arms around hers and that feeling that she'd finally, finally found where she belonged.


End file.
